moi et toi
by salty nap princess
Summary: It was never about New York – Chloé and Audrey(-ish)-centric {for Rankakiu}


**Notes 1**: This fic is just drafts of **gold lie promises **that didn't make it into the final cut so I'm gonna attempt _something_ by tossing parts together like it's a giant salad and hoping for the best.

**Notes 2**: Chloé asking Audrey "Why don't you love me, Mom?" was the saddest thing I've ever heard … let's intensify that, shall we?

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**moi et toi**

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It was never about New York.

It was about_ her_ and _her mom_ against the rest of the world. It was about them – two stubborn, driven, blonde women.

If her mother had asked instead of assumed, said the words, "What is this ridiculous temper tantrum all about?", Chloé would have replied, "It's me and you, Mom." And she would say it with her back straight, shoulders back and head raised.

When Chloé was little, her favourite movie was called **Eloise at the Plaza**, a tale about a little girl who lived in a grand hotel. _Eloise_ was blonde, cheeky and smart; everything that Chloé have always wanted to be. _Eloise_ was mischievous, often getting away with dozens of her antics, meeting important people along the way of her adventures and by the end of the movie, the happy ending was _Eloise_'s mother returning home from overseas – wearing a stylish hat and big sunglasses while being surrounded by shopping bags – and then giving her daughter a great big hug. It wasn't difficult to see how Chloé identified herself to _Eloise_ or why she **adored** the movie above everything else.

Back then when she was young, Chloé thought it was _norma_l to be living in a fancy castle-like hotel; _normal_ to be the only child surrounded by a sea of staff and adults; _normal_ to see her mother once a year because fashion took precedence over everything else, including life in Paris, Daddy, _her_.

But then, she met Adrien and then Sabrina. And, later, Chloé learned that her life _was not_ normal.

Yet, Chloé tried to justify it either way. Tried to counter arguments of loneliness because _not just anybody_ can stay at Daddy's hotel and_ not just anybody_ can have important parents like hers and _not just anybody_ can **be her.**

So, she should count her blessings, shouldn't she?

She should feel lucky, right?

;;

Her mother is back; back in town, back in Paris, back in her life.

Chloé _could_ say she's on cloud nine. She _should_ be, at least, if her mother wasn't _shouting_ at her _in public _and _on live-TV_.

"This wrapping paper is utterly ridiculous!" Audrey exclaims, yelling at her daughter like the young blonde is a complete stranger. "You're fired, Charlotte!"

Her dearest Daddy, major André Bourgeois, along with the news-crew and the crowd around them gasp at such a proclamation.

A blush crawls up Chloé's neck, turning her five shades of pink, before she even acknowledges the heat and feels herself peel back. Gift-giving has always (**always**) been the one (and _only_) way Chloé knows how to express herself sincerely. She did it all the time to Sabrina and Adrien, and that one time for Miss Bustier.

"You can't fire our daughter, Audrey." Her Daddy comes to her defence.

Chloé doesn't utter a peep. Shocked. Maybe mortified. She doesn't feel like talking for the first time in her life. But she manages, trying to recover smoothly. It comes out more like a stutter, now she knows what Marinette feels like.

"It's – It's okay, Daddy." Chloé mutters.

She doesn't care (that much) that she's been publicly embarrassed on TV or that her mother got her name wrong (again). Truly, she … she's just _glad_ her mother is back home, even if the thought of her mother disregarding her lowly digs into her ribs.

"It's okay." Chloé says again.

She pushes it all aside because – it _is_ okay,_ right_? It's _going _to be okay? It should be – Chloé wanted to will it – because her mom's **finally** home and they can be a family again.

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She had thought that they were getting along despite the mishap earlier. How could she not? They had started talking, smooth conversations and her mostly agreeing with her mother's sayings after fumbling. Chloé had to bend her truths a bit, but that was okay because people change their minds all the time.

And little by little, Chloé starts picking up (a lot of) similarities between her and her mother. Like the fact that they like the same eyeshadow pallet and nude lipstick and clothing brand.

"Tell that Butler, Jean Paul or whatever, to have my luggage sent to my room or he'll be fired!" Audrey says to the person on the other side of the line.

_Ah,_ Chloé thinks, _so that's where I got the habit of calling Butler What's-his-name wrong. Everything clicks._

Chloé doesn't even mind that Audrey had abruptly stopped in the middle of their conversation to pick up her phone. Instead, she flutters her lashes and listens. Honestly, she's just glad her mother is letting her linger around such an important call, normally the older woman would shoo her away or ignore her.

She thinks it's going _so well_, until it isn't and catastrophe strikes.

.

.

.

"Marinette," Audrey addresses then turns to the very girl with a smile, "You should come to New York with me."

Marinette's mouth drops open and Chloé stares, wide-eyed. Ouch. _Just ouch._

"M – Mom!" Chloé starts objecting.

Several eyes turn to her. She's pretty sure her Daddy, Adrien and Marinette are ready for her usual temper tantrum since they've known her for so long.

"Not now, I'm talking to someone important." Her mother snaps.

'_Important'?!_ Chloé thinks, rage behind her thoughts. _More important than _**_me_**_? More important than your own daughter?_

Hadn't her time serving Style Queen meant anything? Chloé thought – she had assumed – after she had coughed and waved away clouds of golden dust, bit back a horrid shutter of "_Mommy?_" and pledged to serve her mother that that meant a bond had been formed between mother and daughter.

She means, her mom had called her 'Chloé' while akumatised. Audrey's head wasn't in the right place, and yet the older woman had managed to call Chloé by her actual name instead of 'Cassandra' or some other title.

Chloé had thought that that meant something, she thought that was a sign itself, she thought that her mother _cared_ about her … apparently not.

"You're taking Marinette but not me?!" Chloé snaps back.

She can't believe this! She _won't_!

She deserves this! She deserves some happiness! She helped Ladybug and Chat Noir save Adrien from being a frozen, golden statue. She had been quick on her feet and hadn't gotten akumatised. She had stared for a second out of shock but no longer than that, gotten her act together and didn't waste any more precious time. Like it or not, she helped save Paris, this _shouldn't_ be her epilogue.

"Mommy!"

"I said: not now, Claudette!" Her mother repeats herself.

Chloé feels heat rise to her cheeks and her shoulders shaking. So her mother _can _take a complete stranger like Marinette to New York but not her own flesh and blood? Her mother _can _think Marinette's not ridiculous despite all the clumsiness and tongue-tied blabbering but thinks Chloé's a clown when she's sincere? Her mother _can_ remember her archnemesis's name but not hers?

"That's not my name!" Chloé screams.

No.

_No._

It's not Claire or Charlotte or Cynthia! What next? Is her mother going to call her 'Chlorine'? None of those are her name!

It's Chloé! **Chloé**! Meaning 'blooming' and 'green shoot' – deriving from Demeter, the goddess of harvest and fertility.

Her name should roll off other people's tongues like honey! Her name should cause people to grovel and bow deeply! Her name should _mean_ something, _say_ something!

And her mother _should_ know all of this by now! Her mother _should _have the facts memorised like the back of her hand and the stitching in her designs and the many lovely shades of yellow used in her latest fashion show.

Audrey Bourgeois _should _know all this, _right_? Her mother should know her name, right?!

... _Right?_

Chloé feels her eyes grow itchy and her chest heavy. All eyes on the balcony linger to her, that is, all except for her mother's.

.

.

.

She pulls out her bee miraculous before she can even think. She doesn't know what's right or wrong anymore. She just wants to get an answer.

(Yet, even that wasn't the right choice.)

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"I've caused most of akuma attacks, I've made Paris's life so difficult. Ladybug won't ever forgive me. What am I supposed to do?" Chloé asks, tears dripping down her cheeks and chin, and onto her old stuffed toy. With her shaky manicure hands clutching onto Mr Cuddles, the blonde asks the saddest question the teddy bear has ever heard, "Why doesn't anybody love me?"

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**end**

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**Notes 3**: Why did I procrastinate on this, it's barely anything, what the heck?

– **17 August 2019**


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